


No Hope If You Fall

by Crossover_Critter



Series: An AU of an AU [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us, The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Bruce and Barry are married, Child!Wally West, Dick and Wally are Bruce and Barry's Children, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Sort of happy ending, Swearing, child!Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Critter/pseuds/Crossover_Critter
Summary: Barry kneels there, on the bunker floor, long enough for the frigid dampness to seep through the protective fabric of his suit, across his flesh, and into his bones. For his body to go numb – blissfully so. He knows it won't last; a heart doesn't break painlessly.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne
Series: An AU of an AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029222
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	No Hope If You Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



> Back in July, when I originally posted, "Two Paths Diverged," Anonymous asked for a sequel where "Barry acts as Dick and Wally's mom so he wants to stop villains to protect them. Or a sequel where Barry's pregnant." It's taken a long, long time, but this is the story that eventually came about. Hope y'all like it.

Barry kneels there, on the bunker floor, long enough for the frigid dampness to seep through the protective fabric of his suit, across his flesh, and into his bones. For his body to go numb – blissfully so. He knows it won't last; a heart doesn't break painlessly.

A _buzzing_ in his ear has him batting at the side of his head until he realizes it's not a bug but his comm. With a heavy, weary _sigh_ , he taps his earpiece and opens the link. "Flash here," he says, tongue thick in his mouth, his head fuzzy from lack of food and crashing adrenaline.

_"Daddy? Are you there?"_

The sound of his son's voice has the ends of his lips curving up fractionally even as the hand around his heart squeezes tighter.

_'We have nothing more to discuss. Not here and certainly not at home.'_

_He can't mean it. He can't._

_"Daddy?"_ Wally's tone holds none of the bravado the eight-year-old usually wraps around himself like a protective cloak against the terrible realities of their life. They've always tried to pretend that being the son of The Flash and The Batman makes Wally special – somehow untouchable. Instead, at that moment, the boy sounds just like the small, scared child neither parent hoped he'd ever have to be.

"Yes, sweety, I'm here," Barry forces himself to say, as normal as he can make the words sound without oxygen in his lungs.

_"When are you coming home?"_

"Soon, sweety, I promise. I just need...." The speedster breaks off hoarsely, honestly not knowing what he needs. He hopes it's not to find a way to tell his sons that their family is broken. That the one thing in their lives that was supposed to be stable and good and full of love is just as ruined as the world they live in. His shoulders shake, and it's with effort that he manages to speak again. "Is everything okay?"

 _"I don't know,"_ Wally says, confusion and fear roiling in his tiny voice. _"Poppa came home and said we're going away. I asked where you were, and he said we'd see you later. Can you come home now? Please? I don't want to leave without you. Dick is crying, and he won't stop. Please come home."_

Barry's blood runs cold, and he shivers so hard it's practically a spasm. _He_ _wouldn't_. Whatever their disagreement, as angry as he might be, Bruce wouldn't just _take_ their kids.

Would he?

_"Daddy? Are you there?"_

His son's voice startles Barry out of his shock, and without conscious thought, he's in motion. "I'm on my way, Wally, I'm coming home." There's no trace of his inner tumult in his words as he draws on the unflappable, steely resolve of The Flash to drown out the emotional pain of Barry Allen. "Don't go anywhere! Make sure you stay with Dick!" he orders, pumping his arms and legs faster as he hears Wally's sniffles and wet coughs over the comm.

_"I will, daddy."_

And then the line cuts out, and Barry's running with all he has, the walls of the bunker blurring by faster than even he can see. A few moments later and he's home. Another bunker, several miles away, far enough from the hub that if they're attacked the kids will be safe, and yet close enough to always be on call – always within reach.

He's moving too fast to even bother with the door, vibrating through the solid steel barrier and skidding to a stop so abruptly that the air in his wake roars into the room like a wild beast and sends practically everything not nailed down flying.

"Wally!" he calls, making the word a command to hide how frantic he feels. "Dick!"

"Daddy!" A shock of fiery red hair darts out from around the corner, and then Wally is barreling down the hall and flinging himself into Barry's open arms, hands clutching at his father in something akin to desperation. "Daddy! I was so scared! Poppa said we were leaving...but he wouldn't say where you were...and then he told us to grab our bag...the one we keep in the closet for emergencies...and that we were leaving...but you weren't home...and then Dick was crying...and I didn't want to leave...and...and...."

Wally's lower lip begins to tremble as his gasping breaths leave him without enough air to speak, and he makes a sound that's so full of distress that it has Barry crushing his son to his chest in a bruising hug. "Wally, it's okay. I'm here. It's okay, honey, I'm here," he says, feeling none of the comfort he's trying to give as he buries his face in the crook of Wally's neck. "I'm here," he whispers again, just because he needs to. Sucking in a shaky breath, he asks, "Where's your brother?"

"In our room." Wally's voice is muffled by Barry's shoulder, and his short arms are tight around the speedster's neck. "Are we going away? Are you coming with us? Why is poppa taking us away? I don't want to leave. Why can't we stay?"

The verbal barrage returns, and what's left of Barry's heart shatters. He feels the beginning of a sob creep up his own throat, but it's abruptly halted by the all-but-silent appearance of the black-cloaked figure who glides into the room like one of the shadows he claims to own.

The sob morphs into rage.

"You son of a bitch." Just like that, the panic bleeds out of Barry's body, and in its place sparks the furious lightning of the speed force. "You god-damned. Son. Of. A. Bitch," he hisses venomously as the stench of ozone rises. He can feel himself blurring around the edges.

"Daddy?!"

The alarmed, high-pitched squeak of Wally's voice is like a lightning rod, calling the speedster back to himself, sapping the rage and replacing it with guilt. "Shush, I'm sorry, honey. Shush, it's okay. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he coos as he rocks his son gently. With some effort, he's able to disentangle Wally's arms and slowly kneels down to set him on the ground. "It's okay," he repeats, wiping away tears and snot from his son's face, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

Wally's voice is as watery as his eyes, and he looks the furthest from "okay" Barry has seen him in a long time. He's not used to his parents fighting like this – they _don't_ fight like this. Not at home. Not in front of their kids. Home is safe – home is _always_ safe. Barry's chest heaves, and he aims a piercing glare at his husband over Wally's head. _'How could you?!'_ it screams soundlessly _._

Bruce just stares impassively back.

Shaking his head, Barry scrubs a hand over his face before once more turning his attention to Wally. "It's okay," he says, pressing a kiss to the boy's forehead and holding him close.

It's really not.

Barry raises his head, scanning the room and the hall with tired, red-rimmed eyes. "Dick, sweety, where are you?" he calls out, raising his voice to be heard in the room his sons share. "Can you come here?"

There's a shuffle of feet, and a thick, messy mop of raven hair appears from behind Bruce's cape. One hand grips the heavy fabric while the thumb of the other is jammed into the boy's mouth. His bright blue eyes are wide and scared, his cheeks marred with tear tracks.

"There you are," Barry says, trying to infuse a smile into his words. "Can you come here sweety? Please?" He swallows back the lump in his throat as Dick's gaze flits uncertainly between his parents. Finally, he lets go of the cape and cautiously approaches his father, stopping just shy of the outstretched arm. Bridging the last few inches, Barry slowly envelops his youngest in a hug, feeling it like a dagger when the boy doesn't make a sound or move to hug him back.

Dick is never silent. He's always tactile.

"I'm sorry, honey," Barry whispers, kissing the top of Dick's head. "I'm so sorry." Pulling Wally back into the circle of his other arm, he smiles as the emerald-eyed boy opens his own arms wide to capture both his father and his brother in their embrace. "I love you both so much. So, so much."

"I love you, too, daddy," Wally says, planting a sloppy kiss on Barry's cheek.

Dick says nothing, but Barry feels the boy's hand clasp the fabric of his costume. He spends several long moments just drinking in the love and warmth of his children, but he knows he can't hide from reality forever. Finally, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, willing himself to calm, he says, "Wally, sweety, I want you to take your brother and go to your room, okay?"

The boy pulls back, alarmed. "But poppa...."

"It's okay, poppa isn't going to do anything. We're not going anywhere." Barry doesn't bother to look at his husband as he speaks, but the resolve in his tone challenges Bruce to do or say otherwise. "Go on now, I'll be right there."

With a last glance between his parents, Wally grabs his younger brother's hand and dutifully dashes off, practically dragging Dick behind him. Barry waits until he hears the door click shut before rising to his full height. In the blink of an eye and a gust of wind, he's out of his costume and into the worn, patched cargo pants and threadbare t-shirt that now pass for street clothes. Only then does he stalk over his husband, stopping just inches from the man's face.

"Take it off!" he commands, the growl in his voice almost as menacing as the one that used to strike fear into the hearts of even the most hardened criminals.

Bruce remains motionless; even his chest barely rises.

"Take it the fuck off!" Barry barks. "I'm not having this conversation with Batman. Do it, or I'll take it off for you." And he's not certain he won't take Bruce's head off, too.

Purposely letting the moment linger, the dark-haired man reaches up and slowly drags back his cowl. His stare is as blank as his white-out lenses.

And god but Barry really wants to punch him. "How dare you," he breathes instead, his body deceptively still against the storm brewing within himself. "How could you? How could you try and take our children... _my_ children...away?"

"You condone murder."

The flat, dispassionate way Bruce delivers the accusation – as if that's all there is to it and Barry is suddenly no better than Superman and far worse than a common thug – leaves the speedster reeling, sucking on his lips until they turn a bloodless white to hold back the knee-jerk, emotional response that threatens to spill out. He stares at his husband, eyes shining wetly. "I was saying it's not working. I was saying we need to do more." He hates how weak his voice sounds as he struggles to control himself.

"You were saying that murder is acceptable." Bruce's arms cross over his chest, and with or without the cowl, he's more Batman than man. Always seems to be since the day they watched Metropolis disappear into a dream-ending, soul-rending, life-shattering flash of white light that dissolved into a sea of hellfire.

"I was saying that maybe there's another way." Barry can't block out the flames that dance before his eyes or the screams that echo in his ears.

"Superman's way." Bruce will never ever admit it, but it shakes him to his core to think his husband would ever...could even think.... He can't bear to finish the thought.

" _Another_ way," the speedster counters, and it's less stubborn and more a plea for understanding.

"Murder."

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Barry hangs his head back and blinks rapidly as he stares at the military grey, pockmarked, cracked ceiling of the bunker they call home. A bunker that sees no daylight. Has no backyard in which their children can play. Is always dark and cramped and smells of dust and mold no matter what he does. "You're not even listening."

"There's committing murder and there's not committing murder. Find me a middle ground." Because as much as he might pray, deep down and every night as the nightmares assault him, that there is one, Bruce knows there isn't. Can't be. It's no more than a fool's wish that precedes a descent into madness.

Barry's lips quiver as he regards his husband, searching for a sign of the man he loves. "I was angry, and I was frustrated, and I was hurting, because I had just watched people die. _Kids_ die. And I realize you have no emotions and feel _nothing,_ and that you can just shove it all in a dark little corner and lock it all away, but I _can't._ And I needed you to just _listen_. And instead you try and take my kids." His voice rises at the end, almost making it a question, because he doesn't want to believe it. "You fucking try to take away my kids? What the hell, Bruce?" Shoving his husband back, Barry immediately steps into the empty space. "What the god-damned hell?" Another shove, another step forward. "You fucking asshole, you were going to just take my family away from me? Just leave me?"

Another shove and Bruce is up against the wall, his hands grabbing at Barry's wrists. "Stop." Of course he uses "the voice."

Barry grits his teeth, anger flaring that much hotter. "Fuck you."

"Stop," The Bat repeats, tightening his grip.

"Or what? You'll tear apart this family? Oh, wait," the speedster remarks, words edged by hysterical laughter, "you already tried that." He pauses, staring at the other man as he tries to center himself. "Is it really that easy for you?" he asks after several seconds pass with no response.

Bruce's eyebrow lifts minutely, as good as a "what?" laced with a "don't be an ass."

"To leave. Is it really that easy? To just bundle up Wally and Dick and grab a few things and just...leave me behind. Is it really that easy?" Bruce's face is inscrutable, and Barry runs a hand through his hair roughly as he feels the answer in each second that ticks by in silence.

"No," Bruce finally says tersely.

Barry can't help it, he laughs. It's bitter and sharp enough to slice flesh. "No," he repeats, managing to mimic his husband's level, empty tone.

"No." Bruce holds Barry's gaze, knowing his husband is searching for the lie – knows him well enough to find it if it's there. It's not. It's not a lie. "Do you really think I don't feel anything?" Because he might not be emotional, but there's irony in the fact that it hurts deeply that the man he loves thinks he's emotion _less_.

"You sure as hell act like it." Barry does nothing to mask his scorn. He's taken aback, however, when Bruce's face twitches – actually betrays...something. Every day it seems like there's less and less there to see. Some days he can't stand it.

Bruce allows himself one small, jagged smile. "Superman could snap me like a twig."

Barry flinches, his entire body recoiling from the statement. So matter-of-fact. So blasé. And so undeniably true. Instinctively _,_ his arms wrap around himself as a chill spreads across his body. That's the kind of man Clark – his _friend_ – has become.

Because the violence didn't stop.

Because the killing never seemed to end.

Because it finally claimed one too many lives.

The _wrong_ lives.

"And any of those villains you care so much for wouldn't hesitate to snap _our kids_ like twigs," Barry retorts, trying to put heat behind the words despite suddenly being unsure where the conversation is going.

"We can protect them. We _will_ protect them." Like before, Bruce uses the "Batman voice."

It's only because Barry has speed force-enhanced vision that he even sees the micro-expression that flickers across his husband's face. And it's only because he knows all his husband's tells that he recognizes it despite the fact he can count on one hand the number of times he's seen it.

Doubt.

And then it's gone.

But it's too late. "We can't; not forever," he counters, chasing that look as something ugly and acrid pools in his belly. "I want this for them. I want to do _more_ for _them_."

Gripping his husband's biceps roughly, Bruce brings their faces together until there are mere centimeters between them, uneven puffs of breath intermingling uncomfortably hot against skin. "Superman would snap me like a twig. Wonder Woman would kill you simply for looking at her wrong. Those villains wouldn't hesitate to murder our children in cold blood. Because I don't matter to them. You don't matter to them. Our _kids_ don't matter to _any_ of them." His voice rises almost imperceptibly at the last declaration – as good as a neon sign proclaiming his own distress. "They're _all_ wrong."

"And our family matters so much to you." The words are barely audible. "I matter so much to you."

Bruce's eyes fall shut with a stuttered breath, and his fingers dig deeply into Barry's skin as he struggles to find the right words. He thought his husband understood. He thought he knew. "You're my soul."

For a split second Barry's anger fizzles and his resolve falters. His jaw works, but all that finally comes out is a breathless, squeaky "what?," and it rings with disbelief.

That's enough for Bruce to voluntarily let the wall crumble, because what has he done so wrong that his own husband doubts how much he's loved and how important he is? "You're my soul. You're _our_ soul." For once, he doesn't try to hide the tears that bead in the corners of his eyes, or the way his breath tangles in his throat and his tongue darts out to wet dry, chapped lips.

"Bruce...."

"If you fall, there's no hope," Bruce adds, forcing himself to keep speaking before he loses his nerve – and with it, probably his family. He sees the air catch in Barry's chest, the way his eyes go wide and his skin flushes even as he looks about to protest. But Bruce won't let him. "You're the best of us. Our heart. Our soul. What remains of the good that we were."

"And how does that translate into you tearing apart this family? Leaving _me._ " The tears are streaming down Barry's face; he wipes them away, but it doesn't matter because more just take their place.

"Because if you fall, I fall. I can't do this without you. I can't hang on without you. If you break, and I stay, I will break. I _will_ ." And he will, he _knows_ it. "Our kids will see us break," he adds, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "They'll see us become the same monsters we've been risking our lives for _years_ to fight."

"You can't put that on me!" Barry exclaims, trying to pull away, his expression rippling and his shoulders shaking under the weight of his husband's burden.

Bruce won't let him go, holds him tight. "I have to." He sounds almost apologetic – is, even if he can't quite get the tone right. "I have to, because you're wrong. You're _wrong_ . Every. Day. It hurts. Every day it gets worse. Every day it gets harder and harder not to cross that line. Millions of people have been murdered. _Thousands_ of children. But our friends have _died –_ t hey've sacrificed themselves for this cause – and while I want nothing more than to see their killers burn in agony, if we give in, even an inch, then they died for nothing. And everything we've ever taught Wally and Dick will be a lie. _You'll_ be the monster. _You'll_ be the one they're afraid of." Bruce's voice breaks at that; it's too painful to imagine.

There's a beat where Barry says nothing, merely gapes at his husband. Then, in a pained whisper, he croaks, "You stupid son of a bitch." And he knows he means to pound on Bruce's chest, but instead he ends up fisting his hands in his husband's tunic, clinging to him as his legs give out, all the adrenaline-fueled strength slipping away and leaving him exhausted and boneless.

This time Bruce does catch him as he falls. "I love you," he whispers back, cradling his husband close enough their tears smear in indistinguishable streaks.

"Fucking bastard." This time Barry does manage a weak strike; it leaves his hand smarting, and he knows Bruce's wince of pain is fake. A small, annoying part of him still appreciates the effort.

"I still love you." Bruce does, he loves Barry with all his heart.

The speedster's head falls forward, and he sobs against Bruce's shoulder. He gets it. He understands. He still hates every last bit of it. Every last reason. It's not fair.

"I couldn't do it," Bruce says softly, breaking into Barry's reverie. "You know how fast we could have left; the bags are always packed. But I couldn't do it. I can't do this without you. I need you with me, and I need you to stay strong."

Barry makes a pained noise, eyes screwing shut. "Don't you ever do this again. Don't you ever...."

"I won't, I promise. I'm sorry." Bruce's expression is as stricken as his tone. "Just please don't break. I can't do this if you break."

Digging down deep to find the energy, Barry pulls back slightly and fixes his husband with a stare that has so many conflicting emotions in it the other man can't begin to sort them; somehow it both warms his heart and chills him to his core.

"They're my kids, Bruce. They're _my_ soul. The last two dreams _I_ have. And if it comes down to _them_ against _anyone_ else...," He pauses meaningfully. "...I will do _whatever_ it takes. I don't care _who_ is standing in my way. I couldn't care less what it makes me." Each word is heavy with promise. Barry lets each one hang, refusing to break eye contact.

A pregnant silence builds between them, and in it, Bruce searches for the tell. But as hard as he looks, there's nothing for him to find.

And he'll never admit it out loud, feels part of himself physically rebel against the very idea of what his husband is suggesting, but there's another, feebler part that's okay with it. Maybe even more than.

That might even sleep easier because of it.


End file.
